


In The House Of His Master

by fabricdragon



Series: The Book of John [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dark Mycroft Holmes, F/M, Jim is no angel either, John has a danger fetish, M/M, Memory Alteration, Moriarty is Alive, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Brainwashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2018-11-28 07:00:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11412693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: Sherlock has been rescued and everyone is safely in hiding with Jim Moriarty ( so for varied values of safe).Now it's time to  pay the piper, and find out who you can trust, and prepare for what comes next.





	1. Chapter 1

Mary sat in with Sherlock, after John briefed her about the hot food issues, while John went to speak with Jim.  He was escorted by Sebastian into a small room that looked rather eclectic- a desk and computer on one side, a sitting room on the other, and what was obviously an area set up for video conferencing with photo backdrops.

“How’s Sherlock, Johnny?’  Jim asked. John noticed his voice was calmer, softer, more like Jim from IT than the Jim he’d been talking to.

“What’s wrong?”

“What makes you think anything is?”

“Your voice.  Whatever it is…” he looked at him thoughtfully. “It’s about Sherlock, isn’t it?”

Jim smiled, but it looked preoccupied, “Definitely not as dumb as you pretend to be, Johnny.”

John sighed, _why they all think I was pretending to be stupid…  I suppose the genius lunatics just can’t figure out what ‘smart but not them’ is capable of._ “About that… Sherlock said he was afraid to eat or drink anything that wasn’t delivered hot, because it might be drugged– that was one of the reasons he ate so little on a case– and I’ve been wondering if I was being drugged.” He paused, “Other than the stuff I knew about with Sherlock testing shit on me.”

“Sit down Johnny.” Jim waved at a chair. “Based on what I have here? You can’t even be sure that Sherlock was doing what he thinks he was doing.” He sighed, “He might have given you a hypnotic because he was told to, and then THINK he gave you something for a case.  Unfortunately the doctors wouldn’t know, they only know what went on in house.” Jim looked… odd… like  he’d found out something he’d believed in was… _oh._

“Shit.” John sighed.

“I’m afraid the Sherlock we both thought we knew has been extensively drugged and conditioned for years.” Jim smiled very darkly. “Apparently Mycroft– and his friends I would suppose– have actually managed something I thought was only a myth: a programmed agent.”

“I- I thought that was movies?”

“Oh, it’s not as complete as the movies.  A lot of his basic attitudes must be very much his own, and he has enough knowledge to know he doesn’t like or trust Mycroft even though that’s his brother–“

“He is, actually? His brother?”

“According to the medical records we have? Yes. Admittedly that could be wrong, but I don’t think so.” Jim shrugged, “Hard as this is to believe, Sherlock was being handled gently by them, under orders by Mycroft. They had other people they worked on–my people are trying to find them, yes– and they got it worse.”

Sebastian asked, “Doc? Why do you ask about people drugging you? Anything in specific?”

“I got a hundred times better once I moved out of Baker Street.  Yes, that could just be normal, but it’s also someplace Mycroft had access to.  I also met with Mycroft occasionally, and… he all but kidnapped me a few times before, but for some reason I never… I never seemed to get upset? Well not that upset? Not like I did the last time, and that’s not like me…

“I put it down to depression…” John chewed on his lip. “And there were times when my reactions seemed off, like everything was so hard to follow, and other times I was okay…”

He looked at Sebastian, and then back at Jim, “And I’m not at all sure I should have been that suicidal.  Not paying attention because I was depressed, sure.  The first time? Up on the roof? That feels…” he nodded, “Yeah, I was depressed, I was blaming myself, and I’d been drinking– and that’s bad for my family– so yeah, that was probably real… but after that? I can’t be sure.  And why would it all just STOP once I met Mary?   Part of it is having friends, but the rest? After Sherlock talked about the drugged food all I can think is that Mary made food…”

Jim sat back thoughtfully, “You weren’t eating the same places, either.”

John nodded.

Sebastian sighed, “Boss? We’re going to have to reevaluate EVERYONE else that was around those two. They could be active agents of Mycroft’s, or they could be manipulated? Like thinking they’re doing something helpful…”

John nodded. “And sadly I have to say we can’t trust Sherlock’s deductions about anyone, or what he thinks he remembers.  He outright told me he couldn’t be sure what was real. So if I took HIS word that someone was alright? They might not be.” John muttered, “Although I have trouble picturing our landlady meaning any harm.”

Jim shrugged, “It’s easy to manipulate people, Johnny. Tell them that Sherlock doesn’t take his medication, and convince them to slip it into his drink, for instance.  Let’s say someone was innocent, but she trusts… oh, Jim from IT,” Jim grinned, “Are they watching ME as I slip something into Sherlock’s drink? Or yours? People extend trust if trusted people say they are alright.  That’s how I got people in a lot of places.”

John sighed, “No, if I thought someone was trusted I wouldn’t be watching them.  For that matter I don’t watch people for that sort of thing in MOST situations, just maybe clubs or bars.”

“I’ll start more research on it– meanwhile go on back to Sherlock; we’ll have a meeting tomorrow.” Jim nodded and got up. “Just one more thing, Johnny?”

“What?” John looked up and Jim slid into his lap and pulled him into a kiss.

John had hoped that having Sherlock back would dull the attraction.  He’d hoped that his growing real relationship with Mary would cause this to fade. That once he got used to Jim the passion and the sparks would dull, and it would just be over.

Not even a little.

He moaned into the kiss and pulled Jim in, felt himself almost overwhelmed with WANTING.

When Jim finally let up he was gasping for air and positively dizzy with lust, and fairly certain that even if every guard Jim had was here he would still at least think about having him on the floor.

Jim smiled down at him, hand still gripping John’s hair, John’s hands still wrapped around Jim’s waist. “Just so you know, Johnny boy, I’ve decided I’m keeping you.”

“You’ll get bored with me.” John managed to say.

“Mmm. Well I’ll deal with that when I get there.” Jim smirked. He let John up and John went back to Sherlock’s room in a daze.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re not haunted by the war, Dr. Watson. You miss it. Welcome back."

“How could you NOT have known she was an assassin?” Sherlock snapped at him as soon as he walked back in the room.

“Glad you’re feeling better…” John sighed– Sherlock had food that looked more like it had been pushed around than eaten in front of him– he looked at Mary, “Interrogated you, stared at you, and didn’t eat?”

“Pretty much.” She had that faintly stunned look people got around Sherlock.

“Try not to terrify THIS girlfriend, Sherlock? She’s more heavily armed…” John walked over and stared down at the food. “Right, this won’t do… what if you came down to the kitchen and we made something in front of you?”

Sherlock seemed to be relaxing a bit just from John being back. “That… that might help… you were gone…” he stood up and looked down at John and frowned, “You were on a date? But Mary…?”

John slapped a hand to his face and dragged it down, “Right… right… I have words printed on my forehead.”

Mary smirked, “Jim?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t understand?” Sherlock said suspiciously.

“Jim Moriarty seems to think I’m… I dunno, cute? entertaining?” John sighed, “I wasn’t ‘on a date’ but he did kiss me.”

Sherlock looked very dubious, “Are you sure he didn’t just drug you and you think he kissed you?”

“You tell me.” John couldn’t help but smile.

Sherlock ran his fingers over John’s neck and leaned forward and stared at his mouth; then Sherlock sniffed him. It was without question one of the more surreal times he’d been deduced.

“No, he kissed you.” Sherlock said dubiously, “Had his hands in your hair too.” Sherlock muttered, “You were definitely aroused, I suspect he was as well–”

Mary laughed, “He’s just the way you described… honestly John I thought you were exaggerating!”

John shook his head, “Nope, no exaggeration needed. Can you get a wheelchair?”

She did: Sherlock didn’t want to use it. John ended up pushing the empty wheelchair with Sherlock using the other side of it –and John– like a crutch, while they followed Mary down to the kitchen.

“Can’t you just SIT in the chair?” John grumbled for the fifth time as they finally got to a small kitchenette.

Mary said cheerfully, “I figured we’d be in the way in the big kitchen, so…” she looked around happily, “He does run a nice operation.”

“He threatened John.” Sherlock grumbled, but did at least finally sit down in the wheelchair– now that they were already there, of course.

“Your brother threatened me too,” John sighed, “Jim at least also saved my life– and I don’t think he was drugging me.”

Mary excused herself and left John to put together food. Sherlock watched the preparations warily, but once John was the only one handling the food he relaxed some.

“I was talking to Jim about some things.” John said as he put hot food down in front of Sherlock. “I think I was being drugged as well, either by you or by your brother, or his agents– they had access to the flat after all–which might explain why I was so suicidal,” He sipped some of the tea, “and why I put up with so much.”

“Maybe.” Sherlock said quietly. “I know what I remember, but… sometimes I remember more than one thing at the same time… sometimes.”

John just nodded.

“Moriarty… is really alive? Not a hallucination?”

“He’s really alive, he’s not a hallucination, he saved my life several times over for some reason or another, and… it’s his people that got you out.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” Sherlock said with a flash of his old tone.

John smiled, “You sound better.  I pointed out you were unlikely to trust any of his doctors or  go with any of his people, so he needed me, and  used that  as leverage for some things… among them– as I said– that I’m in charge of your treatment, and it’s my call to let you walk out of here.”

Sherlock frowned, “What did it cost? You didn’t get that much just for that.” He frowned and added, “or for annoying my brother.”

“No, I didn’t.” John shook his head, “Nothing I wasn’t willing to pay– I hope.” He sighed, “I have the distinct feeling he’s going to demand something humiliating just to see if I’ll do it.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, “Humiliating? Not lethal? … wait… don’t you KNOW what it costs?”

“Three things I asked for; paid in three future times he can demand something. I have the right to turn down anything that involves killing.” John sighed, “It’s probably going to involve sex.”

Sherlock blinked at him a lot.

“Let’s go back up and rest, and go over the times you have more than one memory– maybe we can figure out which one is which.”

Sherlock spent most of the day writing down conflicting memories, and times when things didn’t add up.  John ended up doing about the same, although his list was much shorter. John made him more food in the kitchenette, and took the papers down to find Jim at the end of the day.

He found Sebastian.

“Moran.” John said politely, falling back on military habits.

“Watson.” Sebastian smirked slightly. “It never does go away, does it?”

“No,” John said with a wry smile, shaking his head. “I have some conflicting memories and questionable incidents from Sherlock for someone to go over, and a few from myself…”

“Oh, good idea. I’ll get those to Jim.” He took them and then looked curiously at John. “How are you holding up?”  He waved a glass and a bottle of scotch at him: John considered and accepted a few sips worth in a glass.

“Surprisingly well, I suppose, I think the hardest part about all of this is the emotional whiplash.”

“Heh.” Sebastian grinned, “Well that’s Jim in a nutshell.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure; no guarantee I’ll answer it.”

“What does it say about me that of all the people out there, I’m attracted to a professional assassin and two dangerous lunatics?

“That you’re crazier than me by two people?”

John sighed, and then blinked at his Scotch. “You?” he looked curiously at him. “Moriarty?”

He snorted, “Well it’s not the other two.”

“And you…” John choked. “You have to watch that? Oh God, I’m sorry! I wouldn’t have asked you to be there–“

“You aren’t the first,” Sebastian looked amused. “I might prefer not to watch some days, but at least I know he’s safe.” He frowned, “although that was worse than most: you took the guards down.”

“Well, I was upset and no one–”

“No, look, Watson–John–THINK… imagine if your Sherlock was going to have a talk–never mind the sex, just a talk– with someone who was actively on the side of shooting at him, and the guards that were supposed to be sure he was strip searched and put in handcuffs got taken down by the guy– they’d been armed and he wasn’t and they still got taken down– and Sherlock STILL wanted to be in the room and chat?”

John blinked and thought and his eyes widened. “Shit!  And fuck yeah, he would, the prat.”

Sebastian nodded, “So it’s now up to me to try to keep an eye on things, and hope you don’t have too much of a death wish–“

“Bad hope, mate.” John snorted.

“Because honestly if you wanted to kill someone in the middle of sex, it can all be over pretty fast.”

John thought about it. “Yes, yes it can.”  He thought about being hung up on Sherlock, and having to watch him… John shuddered. “I’ll make you a deal: You don’t ever make me watch  Sherlock getting hurt again– no forcing him to commit suicide in front of me, real or fake, no killing him  with me having to live with it– and I won’t hurt Jim in bed,” John paused and added, “Assuming he doesn’t  actually try to kill me or something.”

“You know that leaves it open for me to kill him as long as I kill you first,” Sebastian said with a smile.

John looked back at him, “Yes.”

Sebastian stopped smiling. “Ah, well… yes.” He polished off his scotch, “I suppose I feel about the same, really.” He held a hand out. “Deal.”

John shook on it.

“So… does it mean anything to him? Jim? Because I really can’t tell.”

“You’re asking the wrong man, Watson,” he snorted. “I’ve got myself convinced that I’m special some days… I have no idea. If it’s any help, MOST of his partners never know who he is, they think he’s someone else– one of his covers–”

“Jim from IT?”

Sebastian nodded. “The few– and it’s only a few– who end up in his bed knowing who he is? Well some of them tried something– so they’re gone– and some of them got killed for other reasons– it’s a dangerous life, you know– and I can think of two who, as far as I can tell, just broke up with him and are off living their lives somewhere,” he shrugged, “so right now? It’s just you and me.”

“You and me and Jim… I’m really sorry about this; I didn’t know you two–”

Sebastian shook his head. “Jim does what he wants, and I for damn sure don’t have any exclusive claim on him– much as I wish I could.”

John nodded. “Well, hopefully this meeting tomorrow will get some things settled, or at least put the cards on the table.”

“I’ve seen some of the preliminary,” Sebastian sighed and then grinned, “Jim’s furious and plotting, so whatever will happen it won’t be boring– dangerous, crazy, and violent, but not boring– so you’ll have a good time.”

John grinned back, “That obvious?”

“Yeah, a bit.” Sebastian stood up and clapped him on the back, “might have gotten that impression from before with Sherlock, but frankly the shit eating grin as we planned that raid would have clued me in.”

John just said good night and went back up to the rooms– _“Want to see some more? Oh, God, yes”_ and _“You’re not haunted by the war, Dr. Watson. You miss it. Welcome back.” –_ echoing in his memories.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock talks to Jim again: Jim is not a hallucination this time.

Sherlock spent the entire night hanging on to John for dear life, and occasionally thrashing or whimpering, but was of course now doing the “everything is perfectly fine” routine.

John got them both breakfast and went to a conference room for the meeting.

Sebastian stopped them outside of the room. “Nothing personal, but given the drugs and conditioning I need to search Sherlock.”

“Not John?” Sherlock said dubiously at the man.  Compared to Sebastian, Sherlock looked like a twig.

“No.”

Sherlock snorted and stepped away from John holding his arms out: Sebastian patted him down efficiently and nodded. “Come on then.”

Jim was sitting in  the biggest  chair at the table, swiveling back and forth, one leg crossed over his knee– he might have looked like a kid in his father’s office chair if it weren’t for the way his clothes fit him and the knowledge of just how dangerous he was.

“Hello, Sherl… long time no see.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and opened them again, “That’s a new suit.”

Jim quirked an eyebrow at him, “You expect me to wear the same things for years?”

“It’s not one I’ve seen you wear before, so it’s unlikely I am hallucinating.” Sherlock answered tiredly, “when I hallucinate, or talk to you in my head, you either wear what you’ve worn before, a costume that fits the scene, or you’re in a straitjacket.”

Jim blinked and tilted his head, “That makes sense.”

“It does?” John asked, and then sighed– _like I understand how they think._

“How did you survive?” Sherlock asked as he sat down.

“Special effects.”

“If you won’t answer–” Sherlock began angrily.

“That IS the answer.  Fake gunshot –mostly a bit of smoke to give the right smell and a loud bang– and a bag of fake blood and tissue on the back of my head under a wig with a small charge.”

Sherlock blinked at him a lot.

“That’s rather clever.” John commented.

“I thought so, especially since Mycroft had set up with HIS snipers to kill me on the roof.”

“What?” Sherlock sat forward, staring at him. “Mycroft helped me– Your snipers would have killed my friends!”

“Well, no… you were going to fake your death after all, but as soon as you DID his snipers would have taken me down.” Jim grinned, “But not with me already dead.”

Sherlock sat back slowly. “He… wanted…”

“Mycroft wanted my network: he always did.” Jim shrugged, “When he couldn’t get it from me despite weeks of torture–”

“Wait….” John interrupted, “what?”

Sherlock very slowly said, “That… that’s right… you… wanted  information? About… me? And there was a terrorist plot…”

Jim nodded, “There was a specific crime Mycroft was angling for, yes, but he wanted it all.” Jim smiled darkly, “Of course now that I’ve seen your records, I know why they were QUITE so upset.”

“Why?”  Sherlock was looking intently at him.

John felt so damned lost. “Can- Can you put it in terms I’d be able to follow?”

Jim sighed, “First of all, I strongly suspect that my little games with Sherlock were upsetting Mycroft’s control.  Secondly, once they got me, the first thing Mycroft tried were drugs– naturally.”

Sherlock nodded slowly, “Yes, if nothing else they would try to reduce your control, make you more pliable.”

“Mmm.” Jim spun in the chair until he returned to facing them. “I’m allergic.”

 _Finally something I understand_. “To which drugs?”

Jim grinned, “All opioids, all ‘caine derivatives, and most of the diazepine family to start with.”

John’s jaw dropped open and he couldn’t think of a thing to say. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and looked very intent.

“You… they couldn’t do to you what they did to me.”

“I think they wanted to try, or at least try chemical interrogation, but they almost killed me– and my failsafe would have been very bad for what Mycroft wanted.” Jim’s grin widened, “Then they tried pain, but you know… when you’re allergic to most of the painkillers you develop coping skills.” The smile vanished as though it was a mirage, “The boredom and the sleep deprivation honestly almost worked, though.”

Sherlock shivered. John reached over and hugged him by reflex.

“Jim… is helping.” John said firmly. “For his own reasons, certainly, but you’re not going back.”

“Oh, never.” Jim shook his head. “It turns out I don’t actually know you as well as I thought, Sherl… but if nothing else I despise Mycroft.  Johnny Boy was right; I would have helped steal you away just to piss him off.”

Sherlock smiled briefly, “Pissing off Mycroft: one of my few hobbies.”

“So we’ll call in the rest of the crew and go over what we know– and don’t know– about what’s happened to you.” Jim shrugged. “I still hope that once you get your head straightened out you might come over to my side, but Johnny insisted you be allowed to walk away, and honestly?” he tapped a file with one finger, “Now that I’ve seen this? Honey the last thing you need is one more person telling you what to do.”

Sherlock relaxed slightly under John’s arm. “So you won’t?” he was watching Jim’s face carefully.

“No, I won’t.” Jim sighed. “I will try to persuade you, but… You can walk away if you want: you don’t have to worry about Johnny Boy either, I’ve gotten rather fond of him.”

Sherlock nodded slowly, “You aren’t drugging him. I thought you were at first.”

Jim snorted, “Honey, I’m Mister Sex, I don’t need to.”

John muttered, “That’s the truth.” In what he THOUGHT was a quiet voice but Jim, Sebastian, and Sherlock all turned to look at him: Jim cackled.

Sherlock straightened up a bit. “If you are actually going up against Mycroft, then you need to understand that I can’t entirely be trusted.”

“That’s why I had you searched.”

Sherlock snorted and started putting things out on the table: hypodermics and a knife, among other things.

John startled badly and stared at Sebastian who started cursing quietly and fervently.

“I searched him, Sir.  I didn’t Strip him but–”

“You wouldn’t have found them; I slipped them onto John when you told me he wasn’t going to be searched.” Sherlock said calmly. “I was sent after your network for a reason, Jim… I’m one of Mycroft’s best killers– and you can’t trust me: I can’t trust me.”

Jim went from looking dumbfounded to looking… John was reminded of the cartoon Grinch when he had a terrible, wonderful, awful idea. “Shhhheeeerlock…” Jim almost hissed and leaned forward, “That’s truly beautiful….” He suddenly sat back in his chair. “Except it isn’t true.”

“What?”

“You aren’t even close to being his best killer– oh you might think so, but truly you aren’t.  I should know, an awful lot of them have come after me over time.” Jim waved at the collection of items on the table. “You’re probably good enough– and I have to tell you that’s sexy as fuck– but if you were one of his best killers I wouldn’t have had to get you rescued in Serbia.”

John was having trouble following all of it, but he remembered Jim mentioning Serbia.

“Jim said he passed word to your brother… when you were captured.”

“Why..? Why would you?”

“I have something of a proprietary interest in you, Sherlock, and besides, I’d started really wondering about John.”

“I jumped because you made me; because you threatened my friends– including John: especially John.” Sherlock frowned, “Are you saying THAT wasn’t true?”

Jim just shrugged, “of course it was. I had snipers on all of them, but I already knew you had a way out… what was IMPORTANT was that everyone would be far too busy dealing with YOUR fake death, to worry about mine.”

John wanted to gnaw his arm off, but Sherlock just nodded slowly, “That makes sense.”

“I’m glad one of us thinks so!”

Jim just smiled at him, “Don’t fret, Johnny. When you play in these leagues it’s all blinds and double blinds– unless its boringly pedestrian.”

“Why didn’t you kill Mycroft when you had the chance?”

Jim sighed, “If I knew then what I know now…” He shook his head, “Sorry about that, but all my information was turning upside down.  The conversation you so kindly broadcast–”

“What?” Sherlock frowned, “what do you mean?”

“Mycroft kidnapped John after your return.”

Sherlock frowned.  John hesitantly suggested, “I had to go to the hospital, and Mary picked me up… you called, I tried to warn you about Mycroft…”

Sherlock sat there quietly for a while, “I don’t remember.  I remember knowing I had to go hide– but not why– and then my brother found me and dragged me to rehab.” He shook his head, “Except it wasn’t rehab.”

Jim nodded and said, “They worked on the most recent memories first, and prioritized getting rid of your information about Mycroft.  Short form?” Sherlock nodded and looked attentive. “Johnny told you off, told off Mycroft, and got you upset.  Mycroft apparently kidnapped him and took him off to a warehouse to threaten him, but by then Johnny had my phone number. He left the line open and I heard a lot of Mycroft’s threats, which was VERY odd.”

“Can I hear the recording?” Sherlock asked.

“I’d like to as well,” John added, “Between the drugs and being hit in the head–”

“Drugs?!” Sherlock looked panicked.

“Some gas in the trunk of the car: made me a bit loopy and sick.”

“Oh.” Sherlock relaxed some.

Jim continued, “I showed up with my men and tranqed Mycroft and a few of his boys, shot a few, and then John said that you rescuing him would be a bad idea, and he’d rather just go to the hospital.  You called him when he was leaving, and he warned you about Mycroft.”

John picked up, “Mary said there WERE some bad folks hanging around the house, so we bolted: We’ve been in hiding with Jim ever since.”

Sherlock nodded slowly, “So why didn’t you shoot him?”

“Lots of reasons, including the fact that I have a very complex job going on right now that his assassination would derail.” Jim shrugged, “Shooting him  is on my to do list– well to be honest,” he mused, “Putting him in a cell with the lights on all the time and watching his precious suit grow MOLD is on my to do list, but shooting him will do.” Jim smiled cheerfully, “Shall we call in the crew and go over what we’ve found out about you and what Mycroft has been up to?”

“I’d rather like to, yes.”

“Then let’s get on with it.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meetings, and music, and murder...

John only knew some of the people who came in: Mary, a few of the medical personnel, one of the team that helped with the extraction–he pointed them out to Sherlock quietly. Then two of the guards came in with one of the captured people from Sherlock’s prison–Sherlock lunged over the table at him.

Sebastian grabbed one arm and John got Sherlock’s legs and they hauled him back.

“Woah! Easy!” Sebastian used much the tone John imagined you might use to settle a spooked horse.

The captive looked wide-eyed, and then calculating. “Leash–a battuta–bellicoso–priority–cue,” he snapped out before anyone reacted, having been distracted by Sherlock’s lunge.

Sherlock screamed and twisted in Sebastian and John’s grip. John was struggling with him and, between the two of them, barely holding him–he seemed equally intent on killing everyone else, and damaging himself–when John thought of something that might get through to him.

“Vatican Cameos!” John all but yelled in his face. _It might work: whatever the man had said was a verbal trigger; this was ours._

Sherlock started to settle and finally stared at John as though he wasn’t certain if he was real. “John?” he asked in a very small voice.

“Yeah,” John said leaning into him. “It’s me. Are you… back?”

“I… think so?”

Jim’s voice with an edge on it said, “So, is there a code for him to go back to normal, or would seeing you being dissected distract him enough, do you think?”

John looked over to see the guards holding the man with his hand pressed flat to the table. Jim was holding a knife casually over his wrist–there was a very fine line of blood between his thumb and fingers–and one of the guards had a hand over the man’s mouth. He nodded slowly.

“Lovely!” Jim said cheerfully. “Sean? Can you find any of the phrases our friend here used in the computer files?”

Sean–judging by the response–opened his laptop and asked, “Anyone know what he said?”

Jim smiled pleasantly, “I’d rather not repeat it.”

John cleared his throat, “The first word and last two words were in English; the rest sounded like maybe Italian?”

Sherlock shivered against John. “I don’t know what he said.”

“Well, ‘a battuta’ was one phrase,” Jim said thoughtfully.

Sherlock frowned, “Return to tempo–that’s what it means. We use ‘A Tempo’ for violin because, in stringed instruments, battuto means to strike the strings with the bow…”

“Bellicoso?” Jim asked curiously.

“Much like the word bellicose: warlike.”

“The other words were or sounded English; those two are musical terms–interesting.” Jim wrote the spelling down and pushed the paper to Sean.

“Got it,” Sean said after a moment. “The first word is a key: it means the following is a command. The last word was closing and activating the command string.”

“Uh… in English?” John asked.

“The first word means ‘listen to these orders’ and the last word means ‘now do it’,” Jim said politely. “It’s computer-type coding. Everything in between was the orders.” He looked at Sean. “Is there a command code string for go back to normal?”

“Not really. There’s one for resume prior activities?”

“Sherly? Are you alright now? I’d rather not experiment on it,” Jim said pleasantly.

“I… want to kill you… a little,” Sherlock admitted, “but I think I can manage.”

“Hmm…” Jim walked around to Sean. “Let me see those commands….” They bent together over the computer for a while. The guards were still holding the fellow, still with his hand flat and bleeding lightly on the table, and still with his mouth covered.

“Sir?” asked one of the people John didn’t know at the table.

“Yes?” Jim didn’t even look up.

“Can we just gag the idiot? Clarence and Harry don’t need to be hanging on to him, do they?”

Jim waved his hand in a permissive fashion and the fellow jumped up happily. He trotted over and pulled the man’s head back by his hair and as soon as the guards hand was pulled away shoved a bright red ball gag in his mouth.

“Dare I ask why you have that?” John asked as the man buckled the gag around his mouth and then pulled out handcuffs and cuffed him to a chair.

Sherlock looked at him and shook his head, “Don’t ask, John.”

“Got it!” Jim said happily, and then in a beautiful command voice said, “Leash–Cambiare–Conductor–Jim Moriarty–Cue.”

Sherlock glared at him and growled in the back of his throat.

“I don’t plan on trying it, Sherly, but do you still feel an urge to kill me?”

Sherlock looked thoughtful. “Less so… What did you do?”

“In theory?” He shrugged, “Just announced that I was a new handler–in command of your assignment. It will do.”

Sean pointed out, “His file said he’s killed at least two of his handlers–they think.”

“Well, since our lovely resource here,” he waved at the now gagged man, “doesn’t feel like cooperating, I suppose he’s useless.”

Many people–John included–were agreeing, Sherlock spoke up, “No. Much as I want to rip his throat out with my bare hands, there is likely a great deal that was never written down…”

“True…” Jim looked thoughtful. “Tommy?” The man who’d applied the gag looked up brightly. “Explain the virtues of cooperation to the gentleman: I need him in one piece and no marks where it shows please.”

“Delighted!” he said and simply pushed the wheeled office chair–restrained fellow and all–out of the room.

“Do I want to know?” John sighed.

“Probably not Johnny, but it’s actually nicer than what was being done to Sherlock–for my values of nice, anyway–so…”

Sherlock looked down at the table. “I told you: you can’t trust me–I don’t trust me. I can’t even remember what he said, or what you said.”

“Hmm… Well, your response was actually not that bad, Sherly.”

“What?!” several people said at once, John and Sherlock among them.

“The command was to kill people in priority order–I assume I’m at the top of the priority list.” Jim smiled cheerfully. “You certainly were warlike, but… it wasn’t really directed. You were having something like a psychotic break, and you might well have hurt or killed people, but–as far as a programmed killer goes? That was a failure to execute commands.” Jim giggled, “Oh, that’s a pun.”

John commented quietly while taking Sherlock’s hand, “It looked like he was damaging himself.”

“Didn’t want to listen to him, I expect.” Jim looked over at Sean. “Killed two of his handlers?”

“Suspected. They vanished with no witnesses or evidence.”

One of the people poured tea; Sherlock watched it suspiciously, but seemed reassured when everyone was drinking it–and it was hot. He held the cup in both hands and John pointedly ignored how much his hands were shaking.

Jim waved at Sean. “Report, please.”

“This program technically predates Mycroft: an uncle of the Holmes family named Rudy Vernet apparently started it.”

“Uncle Rudy?” Sherlock frowned. “I always hated him–never knew why.”

“It was his pet program,” Sean continued. “Mycroft Holmes was his second for a while, and had been running things for several years. He took over eventually when Rudy Vernet had… hmm… a stroke.”

“Hmm… a stroke?” John hadn’t been the only one to catch the hesitation.

“Well… based on reading between the lines, Mister Moriarty suspects Mycroft Holmes was dosing Mister Vernet with some of the drugs–running him while officially being his aide; one of the side effects is cardiovascular incidents and strokes.” He shrugged. “It could have been natural.”

“I may be making judgements about young Mycroft based on current Mycroft,” Jim said pleasantly.

“In any event, Mycroft Holmes took over.”

“And started doing this to his brother?!” John shook his head. “I don’t understand that at all.”

“Ah… no. Rudy Vernet pulled William Sherlock Scott Holmes into the program at age 14, if I am reading this right, but I don’t know what they were doing–I just have enough records to know they were doing something.”

“Mycroft would have been twenty-one,” Sherlock said quietly. “And fourteen is when I started experimenting with drugs… I think?”

“A lot of the earlier records are very sketchy–either deliberate, or they had a data loss; it happens. Once Mycroft Holmes took over the programs, the records get better.”

“They would,” Sherlock grumbled.

“You were on the books as an agent, primarily investigation and information gathering, but with assassin training and conditioning.” Sean looked up. “And a priority on your care with direct supervision by the project director Mycroft Holmes. The others have had… much higher mortality rates.”

“Mission deaths?” Sebastian asked.

“That too, but no…” Sean shrugged. “The majority of the agents in the program are either terminated or commit suicide. The rest? This gentleman is the only one to survive more than 10 years without an incapacitating stroke or heart attack.”

“Lower doses?” Jim asked thoughtfully.

“Yes,” one of the doctors nodded. “Although they had others on low doses–they usually terminated them for unreliability.”

“So Mycroft didn’t terminate you, when he should have, and didn’t up your doses…” Jim mused and glanced around. “Well, I suppose that’s caring–for a sociopath.”

“So… now what?”

Jim looked thoughtfully at Sherlock. “The safest option is just getting you away so they can’t dose you anymore.”

“Getting out of London wouldn’t be easy, sir.” one of the other men spoke up. “Holmes is a bit more irate than usual, and has everything on lock down–and I assume they have very good ID on his brother, and knowledge of how he would sneak out of the country.”

Jim smiled happily, “Oh, Mycroft would find Sherly darling in a heartbeat if SHERLOCK was trying to sneak out.” He looked apologetic at Sherlock. “He knows your style.”

Sherlock nodded unhappily.

“But he has no idea I’m alive, and I have JUST the way to sneak you out of the country.” Jim laughed, “You’ll blend right in.”

John looked at Sherlock: _thin, tired, strung out, hungover, and distinctive as hell._ “How could Sherlock ‘blend in’ while getting out of the country?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes it is going to be continued, of course! this just seemed like a good break as we change venues


End file.
